


(All Good Things) Come to He Who Waits

by unquietspirit



Series: All Good Things [2]
Category: Fake News RPF, Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US), Real News RPF
Genre: M/M, Pundit Round Table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unquietspirit/pseuds/unquietspirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anderson told the others about his and Keith’s decision, he got three very different reactions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(All Good Things) Come to He Who Waits

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to All Good Things, with a 100% happier ending! Also contains exactly one (1) quote from the American version of Queer As Folk.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [Sarken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken).

When Anderson told the others about his and Keith’s decision, he got three very different reactions. Jon looked grimly resigned, Rachel, sad, and Stephen—

“You broke up?”

“ _What?_ Stephen, we were never… together.”

“That’s the whole problem,” Stephen muttered, though no one heard him, because Rachel spoke at the same time.

“Anderson, I know how big a jerk Keith can be. But he’s really a good guy, despite it.”

Anderson nodded. “I know. We just both came to the realization that our personalities aren’t compatible.”

There was a short silence, and then Jon spoke.

“So, how will this work? You get us for Thanksgiving; Keith gets Christmas? Or, in my case, Hanukkah?”

“I don’t—” Anderson paused, biting his lip. “The whole idea is to minimize the amount of tension so there isn’t a repeat of your en-masse walkout or something. Dividing up who gets invited to which holiday party seems a little counterproductive. It’s just… not having lunches with the five of us together, things like that. You’ve done that before, when I was away on assignment or whatever. It’s not that different.”

“Yes, it is,” Stephen said.

“But we respect your decision,” Rachel added.

“If it were me,” Jon said under his breath, “I wouldn’t want to be friends with him, either.”

Anderson heard him and shook his head. “Neither of us want you guys to take sides over this.”

Jon snorted. “You think we have a choice about taking your side when Keith’s being that much of an asshole?”

“No. I mean, we don’t want you to stop being friends with either of us, even though we’re not friends with each other anymore.”

“Well, okay,” Jon sighed. “We’ll be Switzerland.”

 

Keith arrived late to the next meeting of the not-PRT. (Stephen refused to continue calling it the PRT without all five of them, but they couldn’t decide on another name.) As he approached the table, he heard Rachel say, “It’s his mess. Trust me, trying to clean it up for him won’t do any good.”

Jon looked like he was going to respond, but then he saw Keith and directed the others’ attention to him as well.

Keith hovered over them awkwardly for a moment before pulling out the chair between Stephen and Rachel and sitting down. “I owe you all an apology.”

“No,” said Stephen, “you owe _Andy_ an apology. Several apologies, actually.”

“I’ve tried. I don’t think it would help at this point, anyway.”

“So you’re just giving up?” Stephen demanded.

“Well, look, it’s my choice who I’m friends with, isn’t it?” Keith responded, sounding defensive for the first time. “I know this makes things slightly inconvenient for you guys, but it’s not like we share all our other friends.”

“This is _different_ —” Stephen began, but Jon broke in, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Keith’s right. I’m not happy about it either, Stephen, but we can’t force them to be friends.”

Stephen looked at him and then sighed heavily. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said to Keith.

The tension abated somewhat as the lunch went on, though they all kept glancing at the chair between Rachel and Jon where Anderson would normally sit.

 

The next week, Stephen left two messages on Anderson’s voicemail.

“Hey, Andy. My Halloween party this year is going to be bigger and better than ever. I want to make up for not having one last year because of the Rally. So you have to come. And yes, Keith’s going to be there, but you two should at least learn how to be polite to each other, for the sake of the kids. ‘The kids’, of course, being Jon, Rachel, and myself. You don’t want us growing up with issues that’ll take thousands of dollars’ worth of therapy to correct, do you? I didn’t think so. I’ll see you on All Hallow’s Eve _eve_ at eight PM. Bye!”

Anderson was relieved that Stephen hadn’t mentioned costumes — he always felt ridiculous in them, even when everyone else was wearing one, too — though a bit surprised. Stephen took Halloween as seriously as only an improv actor could and planned his own costume for months in advance. Then he listened to the second message, left just one minute after the first.

“Oh, and costumes are mandatory! The theme this year is heroes and villains. Jon already called dibs on Cheney.”

He sighed and opened his laptop to google “costume rental nyc”.

__

__

 

Stephen’s house was crowded with _Colbert Report_ and _Daily Show_ staff, as well as a diverse group of Stephen’s other friends. Stephen himself had shown Anderson in, complimented his costume, and then returned to his conversation with Paul Dinello, who was dressed as Captain Hook.

They were, Stephen explained before dashing off, seeing how long they could hold a conversation using nothing but lines from their respective movies. “Except, of course, Faramir’s in two of the _Lord of the Rings_ movies, so I agreed to only use lines from the theatrical release of _The Two Towers_ ,” he said. Anderson nodded, willing to humor him despite only having the vaguest idea of who Faramir was. As soon as Stephen had gone, Amy Sedaris appeared on Anderson’s other side, holding a tray of appetizers and wearing a sandwich costume.

“Hi, Andy Coop. What’s shaking?”

“Uh, not much,” he replied. “Are you… waitressing and dressed the part?”

“No, I’m a hero!” she said, spreading her arms. “Get it? Sub, hero?”

Anderson giggled. “Oh! That’s clever.” 

“And I’m not passing these out,” she added, popping a deviled egg into her mouth. “These are all mine. There’s some on the table over there if you want your own.”

“Thanks, I am kind of hungry,” Anderson said. He made his way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for Keith, but couldn’t see him anywhere. Of course, that didn’t mean much when half the people were wearing masks.

Jon walked over as he was getting a glass of punch. He pointed a toy shotgun at Anderson and growled, “Hands in the air, Cooper, or I’ll shoot you like a 78-year-old Texas attorney.”

“I’m pretty sure Cheney had on a hunting outfit when he shot that guy, not a suit,” Anderson said.

“I know,” Jon replied, lowering the gun with a shrug, “but then everyone would think I was Elmer Fudd, so.”

“Would Elmer Fudd be a hero or a villain?”

Jon gave him an incredulous look. “A villain, of course! Bugs Bunny is the hero!”

 

An hour into the party, Anderson was ready for a break and retreated to the kitchen under the well-used pretense of getting some ice for his drink. Unfortunately, rather than trays that he could fiddle with for minutes on end, Stephen’s refrigerator had a dispenser built into the door. Anderson pushed the button for whole cubes and then glanced over his shoulder as someone dressed as Batman walked into the room.

“Sorry, I’ll be out of your way in just a sec,” he said.

“There’s no hurry,” came the reply, and Anderson jerked his head around to look again, because the voice was Keith’s.

“Oh,” he said, “I didn’t recognize you with the…” He pointed to his own face. Keith didn’t speak, and after a second Anderson dropped his hand and turned back to the refrigerator. He picked his glass up and swirled the liquid around, then took a sip.

Behind him, Keith shifted his weight from his right leg to his left and back again as he studied Anderson. The younger man was wearing just a suit and glasses. “What are you supposed to be, anyway?” Keith asked. It came out more sharply than he had intended.

“Uh.” Anderson set the drink down and turned around, then lifted his hands to the buttons of his shirt, as if to undo them. But instead, he gave a sharp tug and the shirt split down the front with a tearing sound, revealing a padded foam chest sculpted into exaggerated muscles. It was royal blue, with the Superman symbol emblazoned across it. “Clark Kent,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “It was the most low-key option.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, though Anderson couldn’t see that behind the Batman cowl. “How appropriate. Golden-boy reporter with a laughable ‘secret’ identity, bent on saving the world.”

“Which would make you what?” Anderson asked casually, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over the fake chest. “Rich asshole, bent on getting revenge?”

“Ha. Ha,” Keith said. “Rachel picked it out for me. You may have noticed she’s Batwoman. Did the shirt come with the costume, or did you pick it up in the go-go boys department at Banana Republic?”

Anderson rolled his eyes. “I know it’s hard for you, but could you _try_ not to cause a scene at Stephen’s party? I told them we could be polite for stuff like this.”

“Who’s being impolite? I’m just asking where you got your costume.”

“The shirt came with it, but the suit is mine. Happy now?” Anderson snapped. He snatched his drink off the counter and stalked past Keith to the door, which opened just as he reached it so that he nearly collided with Stephen, who was coming through in the opposite direction.

“Oh, Andy, sorry about that,” Stephen said, wrapping his hand around Anderson’s forearm. Then he glanced past him and saw Keith. “Everything okay in here?” he asked, quieter.

“We’re fine,” Anderson said, trying covertly and unsuccessfully to pull out of Stephen’s grip and go out the door. “I was just getting some ice for my drink.”

“You don’t look fine.” He had his eyes narrowed at Keith, although he was still speaking to Anderson.

“No, really—”

“Stephe— Oh.” Jon stood in the doorway behind Stephen and looked around at them all, frowning.

“We’re fine,” Anderson repeated, a bit louder. “I’m going to—” He broke off again and hissed in exasperation as Batwoman appeared over Jon’s shoulder.

“Well,” she said, “I was coming to ask what was taking Keith so long with my drink, but now I see the hold-up.”

“There’s no hold-up,” Anderson said firmly. “I was just getting ice, and now I’ve got it, and I’m going. If Stephen would let go of my arm, I mean,” he added, with a pointed glance at Stephen’s hand.

“No, hang on,” Stephen said. “Jon, Rachel, come in and close the door, please.”

“Um, Stephen, are you sure—?” Jon began, but Stephen turned and looked at him, eyebrow arched. “Okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. He stepped into the room, followed by Rachel, who shut the door behind her and then leaned against it.

“Now,” said Stephen, “Keith told us he’d tried to apologize to you, but I’ve heard what he calls an apology. Andy, do _you_ think he said he was sorry?”

It was Keith who answered, grumpily. “I didn’t in so many words _say_ I was sorry, but Anderson knew what I meant.”

Anderson scoffed. “There you go assuming things about me again.”

“ _Assuming_ things?” Keith demanded. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe I’m wrong about you being—?!”

He broke off, and after a few seconds of silence during which the other three exchanged a look, Anderson stepped closer to him, eyebrows raised. “Me being what? Go on, say it, Keith. It’s just us here.”

“You know what I mean,” Keith said, shifting uncomfortably.

Anderson laughed. It was sardonic, and nothing at all like his usual giggle. “You can’t even say it to me, but you expect me to say it on television.”

“I expect you to live with some integrity, that stuff you go on about every night in your ‘Keeping Them Honest’ bit. I’m just trying to keep _you_ honest.”

Anderson’s jaw tightened, and when he spoke his voice had lost all trace of humor. “I have a friend named Brian who has a saying: ‘If I’m not sucking _your_ cock, then it’s none of _your_ fucking business.’”

Jon widened his eyes and adopted the voice of an elderly Southern woman. “Anderson! Such _language._ ”

Anderson disregarded the attempt to lighten the mood. “So unless you’d _like_ me to be sucking your cock…?”

Another, more significant, look passed between Jon, Stephen, and Rachel, while the skin that was visible beneath Keith’s cowl turned red. Then Stephen said, brightly, “See, this is what I’m talking about. It’s good for us all, really. Get everything out in the open. While we’re at it, Jon, can we acknowledge our own—”

“Not the time, Stephen,” Jon said.

“Well, I just thought if _they’re_ doing it…” Stephen pouted.

Anderson stepped back abruptly. “I… I have to go. See you guys later.”

Rachel moved away from the door to let him out, and Keith watched him leave, still silent and red. After a few seconds, Rachel cracked her knuckles and said, “So. This is kinda awkward.”

Keith, his gaze still on the door, gruffly said, “I’m going to go… think about things,” and left as well.

As soon as he was gone, Stephen asked, “You think he’s going after Andy?”

“If he has any _brains_ , he is. God, I’m half-convinced those two are the reason I’m going grey,” said Jon, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

 

When they met Keith at the diner a few days later, Stephen opened the conversation by asking, “Did you and Andy kiss and make up?”

Keith scowled. “No, and if you guys are going to spend the whole time talking about Anderson, I’m leaving now.”

“Well, _someone’s_ a grumpy-pants,” Stephen huffed.

“Can we talk about the final game of the World Series, then, since we haven’t had a chance to yet and Anderson isn’t here to complain about how boring baseball is?” Jon asked.

The change of subject improved Keith’s mood, until a little while later when a man walked up to the table.

“Hey, my group’s kind of big. Would you mind if we borrowed this, since you’re not using it?” He put his hand on the back of Anderson’s chair.

Before anyone else could answer, Keith snapped, “It’s _taken_.”

“By who?”

“You mean ‘by _whom_?’, and none of your goddamn business,” Keith responded, glaring.

“Well, you don’t have to be so _rude_ about it, buddy. Jeez,” said the man before walking away.

Jon traded knowing looks with Rachel and Stephen, until he saw that Keith was glaring at _them_ now. Quickly, he picked up the thread of their interrupted conversation.

 

“So, about that chair incident…” Rachel said the next day as she and Keith sat in his office sharing Indian takeout at his desk.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” Rachel said. “Why didn’t you go after Anderson when he left the party?”

“I don’t want to talk about the party, either.”

“Keith.” She set her takeout carton down on the desk and leaned over it. “Honestly tell me you didn’t _want_ to go after him, and I’ll change the subject.”

“My friends,” he said slowly, “are all meddlesome yentas.”

“Only because we care,” she replied, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes.

Keith grunted and took a bite of a samosa. Rachel watched as he chewed and swallowed. He sighed, knowing that she was more than capable of pushing him for an answer for the rest of the afternoon. “He caught me off guard. You can’t just _say_ something like that.”

“Yeah, _that_ I’m not asking about, because I don’t want those mental images any clearer than they are now,” Rachel said with a blush. “But… I will say that Stephen’s right. You should apologize to him. With words.”

“I know. It just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing to do over the phone or by email, and I never see him now.”

Rachel pressed her lips together, thinking. Finally, she said, “Come by the diner Saturday at one.”

Keith looked at her for a moment and then nodded. “Thanks.”

She picked up the carton and leaned back in her chair. “If you screw it up again, I’m not the one that told you,” she said, stabbing a piece of chicken tikka with her fork.

 

The not-PRT was at their table, secluded in the back corner of the diner, when Keith arrived. Rachel made eye contact with him, but gave no sign that she’d seen him until he was standing next to the table.

“Oh, hi, Keith! What brings you here?” she asked then, with false cheerfulness to cover the sudden tense silence from the others.

“I thought I might find you,” he said, “and I still have an apology to make.” He looked at Anderson, but the other man was looking anywhere except at him.

“Well, we’ll just… give you guys some privacy,” Rachel said, standing up.

Jon did likewise, and then, when Stephen didn’t move, leaned over and tugged his elbow. “C’mon. Keith promises not to be mean to your boy again. Right, Keith?”

“I promise,” Keith said.

Stephen narrowed his eyes at him, but got up and left with the others. Keith sat down in his usual chair across from Anderson, who was now faintly pink and seemingly very focused on tearing his napkin into small pieces.

“I _am_ sorry,” said Keith. “For all of it. I don’t know why… well, actually I _do_ kind of know why I’m such a jerk to you, now. But regardless of the reason, you didn’t deserve it, and I shouldn’t assume things about you—“

Anderson finally spoke, though he still didn’t look at Keith. “When I said you were making assumptions, I didn’t mean _that_. I meant you assume — or at least it feels like you assume — that my reasons for not talking about it are stupid or disingenuous. Like, I’m only doing it out of cowardice or, or concern for ratings or something, and that’s not true. It’s hard to explain.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith said. “You have your reasons, and I might disagree with them, but you have the right to live your life how you want to. You were right. I was being a bully, and the worst kind, too: a hypocritical bully. I’m sorry.” He held his breath, waiting for a response both to the apology and to the hint he’d dropped.

Anderson glanced at him but almost immediately looked away again, blushing deeper. “Thanks,” he said, as he started separating the shredded pieces of his napkin into small piles.

Keith frowned. “And I’m sorry about the party, too. Though… you weren’t blameless there, you know. You can’t make a man completely reevaluate his sexual orientation and then just _leave_.”

Anderson’s head jerked up and he finally looked Keith directly in the eye. “I thought—“ His voice shook, so he swallowed and tried again. “I mean, when you didn’t say anything, I figured I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Keith replied quietly, “but I didn’t know it until that minute. And then, before I had a chance to pick myself up after having the rug yanked out from under me, you were gone.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

“So… you _would_ like…?”

He nodded.

Anderson looked at him for a long moment with a smile playing around his lips, and then said, “My new place is just around the corner. It’s not ready to move into yet, but…”

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “ _Now_?”

“Why not?” Anderson asked, grinning fully now. “The lead-up has lasted years.”

“…Okay,” Keith said, grinning back at him.

 

A few minutes later, Jon, Rachel, and Stephen returned from their walk around the block and found the table empty.

“That’s _probably_ a good sign?” Rachel suggested as they stood looking at it.

“Well, either they’re fucking each other’s brains out, or one of them’s killed the other and is looking for a place to hide the body,” said Jon.

“Definitely fucking,” Stephen said, looking inordinately pleased. He sat down and picked up his abandoned fork. “If either of them wanted help hiding a body, we’d be the first people they’d call.”

“True,” Jon said as he and Rachel sat.

“Really do not want a mental image of them having sex, guys,” said Rachel.

Stephen looked at her, wide-eyed. “But it would be so hot! I bet they went to Andy’s firehouse, too. Just imagine: Andy tied to a firepole while Keith—”

Rachel turned bright red and covered her ears. “Oh my god, stop talking!” she squeaked.

Luckily, Stephen was laughing too hard to speak. A moment later, so were Jon and Rachel.


End file.
